


Contraband

by threewalls



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Anonymity, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Gen, M/M, Porn Watching, Pre-Canon, Prostitution, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in summer, 2008 (ie one year before events of game).</p><p>
  <cite>When the train goes round a bend, her short skirt shimmying around her hips just keeps catching Shinjiro's eye.</cite>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contraband

She gets on at Iwatodai Station. Shinjiro notices because her hair is dyed golden yellow, bright enough that it almost hurts to look at it, flipped up and over with one of those clips, the way so many girls are doing at the moment.

She catches him staring, and just looks Shinjiro up and down over the rim of her wide frame sunglasses for what feels like the longest while. But it can't be, because then there's the platform announcement, doors closing, and she skips over to stand by the doors near Shinjiro, like it's a coincidence. She just reaches up for a strap to hold on, staring out the windows and giggling into the mobile she hasn't taken away from her ear the whole time. She's drawing glares from the rest of the carriage as much as leering glances.

When the train goes round a bend, her short skirt shimmying around her hips just keeps catching Shinjiro's eye.

\---

At Port Island, the carriage starts to get full. The crowd pushes Shinjiro closer to the girl. Real close behind her, so he can just see over her head, see the girl's reflection in the window-panels of the door. She smells good. Shinjiro would have expected some expensive perfume he doesn't know the name of, but she just smells a little like roses.

She's still talking into her mobile, giggling at something whoever she's talking to said: Shinjiro can only hear her voice, blah, blah, blah, student council, archery practice. Listening to her, she's obviously a high school senior like him, if Shinjiro still went to classes. They both look older.

He's not looking at the track when the train hits the next bend, suddenly the girl's soft curves are between him and the door, and her skin, the bare soft skin above her thigh-high boots is warm under the hand Shinjiro threw out from his coat pocket, to brace himself.

He waits, to see if she's going to slap him, or scream, or something, but the girl just sort of relaxes right there, and steps just a little wider, her ankles pushing Shinjiro's feet spread. It feels suspiciously like permission, like those girls in hentai who are apparently just walking around waiting for cock. Shinjiro has dozed through most of the porn he's "seen", so maybe he's missing something, but that sort of thing has always seemed too easy.

Her mobile's disappeared somewhere, no more chatting. The carriage is loud, but Shinjiro can see in the window that her lips aren't moving. Shinjiro wonders if she knows what she's doing to him. His jacket's too long to give him away, what he's thinking about doing to her. With those glasses, he can't see her eyes.

He can't move his hand without stabbing his elbow into someone. Shinjiro feels the doki-doki beat in his fingertips until they come back around to Iwatodai.

\---

"Nice wig," Shinjiro says. "Different look."

"Thank you, Aragaki."

Down the platform steps so quick that he's having trouble keeping up with her stride, Kirijo glances back over her shoulder at him, her eyes cool. Shinjiro can see why she's wearing those glasses. The wig's the opposite of what he would expect of her, but Kirijo's sharp, assessing gaze hasn't changed since she stopped wearing her hair in ringlets.

"Did you find some more?"

He nods. The VCDs are in padded sleeves in the inside pockets of his coat.

It's four blocks to Shirakawa, following the clip-clip of Kirijo's heels, to a warm shower and soft bed for Shinjiro, while Kirijo watches what she doesn't dare watch at home.

\---

Shinjiro knows the noises Kirijo makes when she's close. She's on her front, hips wriggling and hands where he can't see them. Her head's at the other end of the bed, facing the TV. Shinjiro can see the way her toes kick when she comes.

For some reason, Kirijo thought it would be stranger for her to book into a love hotel alone.

Before he started looking, Shinjiro would have been surprised how easy it is to find animated stuff focused only on school presidents and OLs and tight-buttoned-up board room ladies getting groped and fingered and fucked. Before he started helping Kirijo out, Shinjiro would have been surprised how much he could get into them. He thinks it would be even more of a turn-on if the VAs weren't all screaming no, no, no in between pants and moans. He hopes it would, anyway.

Shinjiro takes care of himself when Kirijo's in the shower.

She steps back out of the bathroom with her wig back on, blouse buttoned and jacket zipped, but her cheeks are still flushed. She hands him an envelope; Shinjiro doesn't count the yen inside.

Kirijo always gives him twice as much as Shinjiro will need for another few discs, and booking the hotel room next time. She doesn't ask for receipts. The money Kirijo wires to Kurosawa for Shinjiro's room and board isn't money Shinjiro can spend on pills; this isn't something Kirijo can square with her accountant.

Shinjiro wonders if he could ask for more, after what happened on the train. He wonders if Kirijo will offer it, would ask for that sort of thing, and if she does what he would say. This used to feel like helping out a friend, but Castor keeps getting louder. Takaya already knows how desperate Shinjiro is.

There's sweat on Shinjiro's back; it itches.

"And this." Kirijo holds out a coloured, printed piece of paper. As soon as he takes it, Kirijo steps quickly around the bed to sit, pulling on her boots.

Shinjiro unfolds the paper. It's a flyer for a high school boxing match. Shinjiro's thumb traces the bold black kanji of the reigning champion's name.

"Tell him to lay off that protein shit. He stops eating properly before a match. It's stupid."

"I'll tell him."

She stands, smoothes her skirt back to crisp, precise lines. It makes Shinjiro think of fucking her bent over her motorcycle. Of Kirijo on her knees, her jacket zipped open and her lacy black bra.

With Aki, Shinjiro always thinks about starting with kisses (though sometimes, he thinks about Aki blushing behind hands held in front of his face), but with Kirijo, it's just porn. Porn based on their frighteningly similar tastes, but still porn.

"Keep in touch, Aragaki. You have the room for another thirty minutes," Kirijo says, and then she's gone.


End file.
